Blank staring expressions greeted him over a dozen muzzle points, as if they expected him to do some sort of back flip and produce a machine gun out of his bare arm. A woman wearing white gloves picked up his holy water bottle with a pair of tongs. It was an ex-military canteen with a cross scratched on it for differentiation from the other canteen. He'd drunk a whole bottle of it one night by mistake. (Mary had thought it probably did him good.)
The tongs placed it securely in a grey bin, marked LABORATORY: HAZARDOUS MATERIALS. They would probably take it to the lab and test for chemical weapons. His tinderbox kit and home-made first aid ointments (some doubtful, from Eric--who swore that vinegar, lard, and low dose rat-poison could cure fever, chills, and infections) went into the a testing bin as well. The woman held the remains of the beef jerky aloft with the tongs, staring at it as if it were human flesh, finally it too went into its own bin. Something in him cringed as she picked Mary's crucifix. Nope, no hidden compartments for anthrax or nerve gas, it went back into the pile.
She picked up the tattered King James Gideon Bible, and a holy card with a fetus' picture slid out and landed on the table, loud in the silence of the blank stares. Then suddenly she turned to look at him, even her look was guarded, but their eyes locked. She was young, perhaps 25. Intelligent. He could read that in her eyes. And a believer in a vision bigger than herself.
She looked away, having read all she wanted, and cast one more glance over the weapons and the Bible, imperceptibly shuddered, and disappeared down the hall with the gray boxes.
A moment later the further doors opened to a hall. Eight of them marched him down. They were passing through offices, probably for pretty high-up officials by the look of the black granite floors. The walls were covered in diplomas and formal portraits. Some walls had floor length mirrors on them. This was psychological warfare, he knew. There was them, standing at attention, in uniform, and smiling in their official portraits with the flag behind them, with their degrees and medals of honor on the walls. Then there were the guards surrounding you, good-looking, tall (were all of them over 6 feet?) and smartly uniformed, effortlessly making quick time, their boots gleaming off the polished floors. And then there was you. Your head only coming up to their shoulders, hands cuffed behind your back, bare feet scuttling to keep up the pace---small and deranged and scruffy in a dirty undershirt and shorts. (at least they let you keep that, they had confiscated his ratty jeans, emptying every real and decorative pocket, collecting every bit of lint and scrap-paper. They'd been very interested in his attempts at poetry. Much more so, in fact, than any of his friends. Mary said the meter was terrible. Probably deciphering them for terrorist plots right now).
They went through multiple doors, security locked, gliding open as the head guard slid in the passcodes. Finally, a plain unmarked wooden door. It opened, the security cameras serving as their knock.
He was led in. The guards drew back to the door. President Gray stood up at a desk, Commander Foster was by his right. Around them were seated half-a-dozen various persons. The commander nodded to the guards, and they withdrew. Ariel could see the shadows by the pillars flicker, indicating the presence of select guards posted behind them. Hidden, in the case he did produce a machine gun from his bare arm.
“Ariel Sheldon. We know you. We know what you've been up to after--leaving the army ”
Ariel looked past him, directly at Commander Foster
“Sir, I think you know that I know, that this is a waste of your time.”
President Dell cleared his throat. Ariel kept his eyes locked on Foster. The President continued.
“We know you are an...influential...man, in your own circle. We know after your discharge, you organized a group of--right wing radicals. Paramilitary. You frequently sneak through this city, spread misinformation, interfere with military and civilian operations, harass citizens. We know what you believe, your extremist views and--fascist dreams for society.0000000000 Recently, it has come to our attention that you've crossed the line into domestic terrorism. We know that you have been under a lot of emotional pressure, and have had psychiatric struggles...."
Ari looked at Commander Foster. He would not meet his eyes.
"....For the safety of our civilians, for our society, for---"
“Sir, to be frank, you know you would much rather have me out there, then in here.” Here, I am a symbolic threat to you, a right-wing radical. The more attention you give me, the more you say my backwards ideas are still alive. I hurt your narrative. Unless I (I become monster in the dark, help your narrative)
“Out there, my band of crazy radicals stands between this city, and what's out there. ” He finally caught Commander Foster's eyes, and held them.
“Sir, you know what these people don't, You know what stalks in the darkness around this city. ” Yes, Commander, you know the full extent of what it is.
“If you are referring to the rumors of the so called Gi-hirion invasion , You insult our country's men and women serving in the military, special operations, and law enforcement----"
He kept looking at Foster, interrupting..
“I'm simply stating sir, that you would rather have us out there.” You know you need us crazies to do it. Because you know your own sane men can't.
The President looked offended.
“If you are claiming it is some sort of overriding external threat, we are in no way ---”
Ari only kept his eyes locked on Commander Foster. The President looked at the Commander's face, and fell suddenly silent.
“Mr. President, it keeps us busy. Keeps us extremists at the extremes, so to speak. And it puts one more layer between it, and our excellent military. As that stands, I think it would be in your best interest to let me go. You can deal with my band of crazies after --that---is dealt with. And, Sir, I do plea innocent to your charge of terrorism .”
****
Ariel stared at the fluorescent light illuminating the ceiling tiles of his little cell. It was a prime number in one direction: 179.Mary had a thing for Prime numbers. He counted the tiles in the other, 171. That was prime too. No, it wasn't! It divisible by 3. And 9, which was three threes. A fractal. Mary would have liked that too. He could see her in that over-sized camo jacket, perched in the branches of the tree above their stake out, braid swinging down her back, eyes alight, speaking on irreducible numbers and irreducible logic cycles and recursion, all in an excited whisper. He had tried to shut her up, in case they were overheard. She was always talking like that. Another time, it would be about some prayer cycle she'd invented that had something to do with primes...he tried, but he couldn't recall the details now. It was something about the number 3, and confession...
He shut his eyes, scraping the vague recesses of his memory. He had been escorted to this little cell. He knew they were arguing about what to do with him. He knew Foster knew that they needed him. But he didn't know how much influence Foster had with Gray. And Foster might be gone. There were rumors they were going to replace him with a younger, more visionary commander. Now all he had to do was wait. So he was waiting.
There, it was coming back now. The rough bark branches, her low whisper, the night wind in his face... Holy Trinity, I do confess, having sinned with my body, mind, and soul--- The metal door clanged open. He jumped to his feet, heart pounding. A nurse stood, four armed guards around her. She was carrying plastic bags. He had met 'interrogation' techniques before, but nothing beyond a simple rubber truncheons and ego-demolitions. And then there were those rumors about those new drugs. His stomach twisted cold, he swallowed, God knowshow he would hold up in that. Ari quickly looked at them, and caught a glimpse of ratty jeans. Relief washed over him. Foster had won.
*******(Original) The SWAT team was still around him, twenty-seven men all told. (and women, too, the AUSC was open-minded). All in combat gear, and heavily armed. They'd taken all his knives and both handguns, his rifle, and his hunting bow. He's never realized how many weapons of death he carried, till seeing them all heaped up on that sterile white table. Along with his various tools, Gideons New Testament, and Mary's crucifix, and a good deal of his clothes.
Blank staring expressions greeted him over a dozen muzzle points, as if they expected him to do some sort of back flip and produce a machine gun out of his bare arm. A woman in white gloves picked up his holy water bottle with tongs. It was an ex-military canteen with a cross scratched on it for differentiation from the other canteen. He'd drunk a whole bottle of it one night by mistake. (Mary had thought it probably did him good.) The tongs placed it securely in a grey bin for testing for chemical weapons. His tinderbox kit and home-made first aid ointments (some doubtful, from Eric who swore that low dose rat-poison could cure infections) went into the a testing bin as well. She stared at the remains of the beef jerky as if it were human flesh, until it too went into its own bin. Something in him cringed as she picked Mary's crucifix. No hidden compartments for anthrax or nerve gas, it went back into the pile. When she picked up the tattered King James Gideon Bible, a holy card with a fetus' picture slid out and landed on the table, loud in the silence of blank staring eyes. She turned to look at him, even her look was guarded, but their eyes locked. She was young, perhaps 25. Intelligent. He could read that in her eyes. And a believer in a vision bigger then herself. She looked away, having read all she wanted, and cast one more glance over the weapons and the Bible, imperceptibly shuddered, and disappeared down the hall with the gray boxes.
A moment later the further doors opened to a hall. Eight of them marched him down. They were passing through offices, probably for pretty high up officials by the look of the black granite floors. The walls were covered in diplomas and formal portraits. Some walls had floor length mirrors on them. This was psychological warfare, he knew. There was them, standing at attention, in uniform, and smiling in their official portraits with the flag behind them, with their degrees and medals of honor on the walls. Then there were the guards surrounding you, good-looking, tall (were all of them over 6 feet?) and smartly uniformed, effortlessly making quick time, their boots gleaming off the polished floors. And then there was you. Your head only coming up to their shoulders, hands cuffed behind your back, bare feet scuttling to keep up the pace---small and deranged and scruffy in a dirty undershirt and shorts. (at least they let you keep that, they had confiscated his ratty jeans, emptying every real and decorative pocket, collecting every bit of pocket lint and scrap of paper. They'd been very interested in his attempts at poetry. Probably deciphering them for terrorist plots right now).
They went through multiple doors, security
locked, gliding open as the head guard slid in the passcodes. They finally they made it to a plain unmarked wooden door. It
opened, the security cameras serving as their knock. He was led in.
The guards drew back to the door. President Gray stood up at a desk,
Commander Foster was by his right. Around them were seated half a
dozen various persons. The commander nodded to the guards, and they
withdrew. Ariel could see the shadows by the pillars tremble, of
select guards posted there. Hidden, in the case he did produce a
machine gun from his bare arm.
“Ariel Sheldon. We know you. We know what you've been up to after leaving the army ”
Ariel looked past him, directly at Commander Foster
“Sir, I think you know that I know, that this is a waste of your time.”
President Dell cleared his throat. Ariel kept his eyes locked on Foster. The President continued.
“We know you are an influential man, in your own circle. We know after your discharge, that you organized a group of right wing radicals as paramilitary group. That you frequently sneak through this city, spreading misinformation, interfering with our military and civilian operations, harassing citizens. We know what you believe, your extreme regressive views and fascist dreams for society. But recently, it has come to our attention that you've crossed the line into domestic terrorism. However, we know that you have been under a lot of emotional pressure, and have had psychiatric struggles...."
Ari looked at Commander Foster. He would not meet his eyes.
"....For the safety of our civilians, for our society, for---"
“Sir, to be frank, you know you would much rather have me out there, then in here.” Here, I am a symbolic threat to you, a right wing radical. The more attention you give me, the more you say my backwards ideas are still alive. I hurt your narrative. Unless you've so poisoned them against me, that I help it....
“Out there, my band of crazy radicals stands between this city, and what's out there. ” He finally caught Commander Foster's eyes, and held them.
“Sir, you know what these people don't, You know what stalks in the darkness around this city. ” Yes, Commander, you know the full extent of what it is.
“If you are referring to the rumors of the so called Gi-hirion invasion , and implying an insult to our country's men and women serving in the military, special operations, and law enforcement----"
He kept looking at Foster, and spoke.
“I'm simply stating sir, that you would rather have us out there.” You know you need us crazies to do it. Because you know your own sane soldiers can't.
The President looked offended.
“If you are claiming this as some sort of overriding external threat, we are in no way ---”
Ari only kept his eyes locked on Commander Foster. The President looked at the Commander's face, and fell suddenly silent.
“Mr. President, it keeps us busy. Keeps us extremists at the extremes, so to speak. And it puts one more layer between it, and our excellent military. As that stands, I think it would be in your best interest to let me go. You want to wait to deal with my band of crazies until after --that---is dealt with. And, Sir, I do plea innocent to your charge of terrorism .”
Ariel stared at the fluorescent light illuminating the ceiling tiles of his little cell. It was a prime number in one direction 179. He remembered how Mary had a thing for Prime numbers. He counted the tiles in the other, 171. That was prime too. No, it wasn't! It divisible by 3. And 9, which was three threes. A fractal. Mary would have liked that too. He could see her in that over-sized camo jacket, perched in the branches of the tree above their stake out, braid swinging down her back, her eyes alight, speaking on irreducible numbers and irreducible logic cycles and recursion, in an excited whisper. And he remembered how he tried to shut her up in case they were overheard. She'd had been explaining some prayer cycle she'd invented that had something to do with primes, but he couldn't remember what. He wished he remembered it now, something about the number 3, and confession. He shut his eyes, scraping the vague recesses of his memory. He had been escorted to this little cell. He knew they were arguing about what to do with him. He knew Foster knew that they needed him. But he didn't know how much influence Foster had with the President. There were rumors they were going to replace him with a younger, more visionary, commander. Now all he had to do was wait. So he was waiting.
Holy Trinity, I do confess, having sinned with my body, mind, and soul--- The metal door clanged open. He jumped to his feet, heart pounding. A nurse stood, four armed guards around her. She was carrying plastic bags. He had met 'interrogation' techniques before, but nothing beyond a simple beating and ego-assassination techniques. And then there were those rumors about those new drugs. He didn't know how he would hold up. Ari quickly looked at them, and saw a glimpse of ratty jeans. Relief washed over him. Foster had won.
“Ariel Sheldon. We know you. We know what you've been up to after leaving the army ”
Ariel looked past him, directly at Commander Foster
“Sir, I think you know that I know, that this is a waste of your time.”
President Dell cleared his throat. Ariel kept his eyes locked on Foster. The President continued.
“We know you are an influential man, in your own circle. We know after your discharge, that you organized a group of right wing radicals as paramilitary group. That you frequently sneak through this city, spreading misinformation, interfering with our military and civilian operations, harassing citizens. We know what you believe, your extreme regressive views and fascist dreams for society. But recently, it has come to our attention that you've crossed the line into domestic terrorism. However, we know that you have been under a lot of emotional pressure, and have had psychiatric struggles...."
Ari looked at Commander Foster. He would not meet his eyes.
"....For the safety of our civilians, for our society, for---"
“Sir, to be frank, you know you would much rather have me out there, then in here.” Here, I am a symbolic threat to you, a right wing radical. The more attention you give me, the more you say my backwards ideas are still alive. I hurt your narrative. Unless you've so poisoned them against me, that I help it....
“Out there, my band of crazy radicals stands between this city, and what's out there. ” He finally caught Commander Foster's eyes, and held them.
“Sir, you know what these people don't, You know what stalks in the darkness around this city. ” Yes, Commander, you know the full extent of what it is.
“If you are referring to the rumors of the so called Gi-hirion invasion , and implying an insult to our country's men and women serving in the military, special operations, and law enforcement----"
He kept looking at Foster, and spoke.
“I'm simply stating sir, that you would rather have us out there.” You know you need us crazies to do it. Because you know your own sane soldiers can't.
The President looked offended.
“If you are claiming this as some sort of overriding external threat, we are in no way ---”
Ari only kept his eyes locked on Commander Foster. The President looked at the Commander's face, and fell suddenly silent.
“Mr. President, it keeps us busy. Keeps us extremists at the extremes, so to speak. And it puts one more layer between it, and our excellent military. As that stands, I think it would be in your best interest to let me go. You want to wait to deal with my band of crazies until after --that---is dealt with. And, Sir, I do plea innocent to your charge of terrorism .”
****
Ariel stared at the fluorescent light illuminating the ceiling tiles of his little cell. It was a prime number in one direction 179. He remembered how Mary had a thing for Prime numbers. He counted the tiles in the other, 171. That was prime too. No, it wasn't! It divisible by 3. And 9, which was three threes. A fractal. Mary would have liked that too. He could see her in that over-sized camo jacket, perched in the branches of the tree above their stake out, braid swinging down her back, her eyes alight, speaking on irreducible numbers and irreducible logic cycles and recursion, in an excited whisper. And he remembered how he tried to shut her up in case they were overheard. She'd had been explaining some prayer cycle she'd invented that had something to do with primes, but he couldn't remember what. He wished he remembered it now, something about the number 3, and confession. He shut his eyes, scraping the vague recesses of his memory. He had been escorted to this little cell. He knew they were arguing about what to do with him. He knew Foster knew that they needed him. But he didn't know how much influence Foster had with the President. There were rumors they were going to replace him with a younger, more visionary, commander. Now all he had to do was wait. So he was waiting.
Holy Trinity, I do confess, having sinned with my body, mind, and soul--- The metal door clanged open. He jumped to his feet, heart pounding. A nurse stood, four armed guards around her. She was carrying plastic bags. He had met 'interrogation' techniques before, but nothing beyond a simple beating and ego-assassination techniques. And then there were those rumors about those new drugs. He didn't know how he would hold up. Ari quickly looked at them, and saw a glimpse of ratty jeans. Relief washed over him. Foster had won.
****
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